Love Is Quicker To The Heart Than A Knife
by seriousish
Summary: How do you turn an enemy into an ally? Make her fear you? Make her want you? Make her love you? EmilyXAmanda


The warden was right. Emily couldn't stay an enemy. Amanda had thought she would take the hint after her sixth ass-kicking, but no, it was like beating her head against the wall. She needed to take a new tact. Ever since she was ten, the only way she'd known to take a punch was to punch back. It wasn't a persona, a coping mechanism. It was reflex now. If there was one thing she'd learned, it was that if you didn't hit back, you just got hit again.

Lying in her bunk, awaiting Emily's return, she felt her body preparing for a fight she didn't want. Blood pumping and heart clenching and skin tingling to take a punch. She was like a raw nerve. She had to be something else, someone else, someone Emily wouldn't try to punch out if such a thing existed.

It was thinking about her hate that gave her an answer. It usually did. Victoria had used her father's love to get close enough to kill. Amanda didn't need to be that close. She just needed to get inside Emily's reach.

Emily came back from her own therapy session with the warden swaggering like she'd won the Super Bowl. She was always so proud of a few bruises. And she looked at Amanda like she was already pumped for another round of having her hair pulled or her ribs bruised, anything that wasn't looking around and seeing gray walls. She said "I told you when I got here, I'm the baddest bitch you could ever imagine. Want me to prove it again, give me one more wrong look."

Amanda looked at her. Not as a sparring partner, but as a human animal. She was another raw nerve, only without the good sense to stay away from salt. She singed herself and lashed out at whatever mote of dust had pained her. Who knew what she'd give for some balm.

Amanda dialed down useless irritation and emphasized useful sweetness. "We should be friends."

"I've got enough friends."

"Do you?" Amanda thought of what a woman who could forgive Emily might say. Not that there was anything to forgive. She didn't care about bruises enough to hold a grudge. "If we keep this up, eventually they're going to throw us both in Solitary and be done with it. But if we play nice, we just might enjoy ourselves."

"And what's more fun than plowing the linoleum with your face?"

A shrill cry sliced the air. Amanda had spent enough time in women's prison to know it had nothing to do with pain. She raised an eyebrow. "Now there's an idea."

It was a sarcastic comment, but she noticed the way Emily's eyes swept over her after, lingering not casually. She shifted her body to give Emily a better view. It was hard to make prison scrubs look appealing, but not impossible. "That would be one way to pass the time."

Emily didn't blush, but she did the convict equivalent, dropping her eyes. And she said nothing, which meant it was still Amanda's move. "They do make it sound like fun. And I don't know about you, but I could be getting bored of giving myself carpal tunnel syndrome."

"I've been kicking the crap out of you all month."

Amanda shrugged. "Means you have stamina."

When Emily spoke next, her voice was cracking. "I'm not afraid, if that's what you're thinking."

"I'm not scared either," Amanda cooed. "Just a little nervous. But a little excited too." She liked being this new person, one who could turn away all Emily's anger and violence. She wanted to make love to her. "Would it help if I went first?"

But Emily couldn't allow Amanda to beat her at anything. It'd be too much like showing weakness. She stripped off her top and awaited Amanda's approval, while not being overly concerned she got it.

"You've very pretty," Amanda said. It was a good lie, because it was also the truth. Emily was beautiful. The deception was the notion that Amanda cared. "Have you had a lot of boyfriends?" She didn't care about that either, but was just curious what information this other her could get.

Emily nodded. "Before I came here. But no women."

Amanda took hold of Emily's breast. It felt like her own. For some reason, that surprised her. She'd expected it to feel different.

"But you wanted to?" she asked, teasing Emily's nipple the way she liked to tease herself.

Emily liked it too. "Sometimes."

"With me?"

"Sometimes," Emily repeated mockingly.

Amanda twisted her nipple hard, saw Emily's face contort under her dirty blonde hair, found her lips in a hard kiss. No more talking. Something in her wasn't interested in her anymore, the real her shining through the other her. She shoved Emily onto the bed before she was done massaging her tongue, smirking as she heard the rough bedsprings dig into Emily's back. Then she was on Emily.

Kissing another woman was weird. Kissing anyone was weird, but she couldn't get out of her own head long enough to stop thinking it was a woman, Emily was a woman, it was a woman's tits pressed against her own instead of flat muscle and a woman's warmth down between her legs instead of the hard meat she'd seen in porno mags and full-frontal scenes. She thought of Jack, and how she'd once believed she'd grow up to marry him, live in a white house by the beach, right beside her father's. Hell, ride unicorns to work. Her childhood fantasies hadn't included sex, but they'd definitely precluded this.

She kept kissing Emily until the weirdness was something she kind of liked. Emily was good at this, quick and willing, and soon Amanda stopped the awkward attempt to replicate Leonardo DiCaprio's screen kisses and just did what Emily seemed to be doing. Shortly after, Emily started moaning appreciatively. Amanda stopped, a little scared of herself—Emily was moaning, Emily liked _her_—but saw the wanting look in Emily's eyes and knew what to do to keep it there. She stripped off the outer layer of her top, which never kept the cold out anyway, and let Emily see how her breasts now strained against her tanktop.

Emily followed suit, swinging her tunic around with a wicked smile before letting it fly. She pulled Amanda back to her and Amanda felt a quick need to jab her with a knee, an elbow, a headbutt. Vestigial urges. She kissed Emily instead. Her hands stopped shaking when she rested them on Emily's body, and she quickly found the differences that made them. Emily's belly was soft where hers was hard and flat with prison muscle. Her ass jutted out into Amanda's seeking hands, girlish, _womanish, _where Emily's was firm as a boy's. All of her, soft and feminine, where Emily was sleek and cruel.

Of course, Emily was just a tourist, a fuck-up who'd landed herself in purgatory to burn off her sins, while Amanda had been born to hell… one of those unbaptized babies that dies in the crib and is broken before the clay is even finished being molded. They could've been sisters. Maybe that was why they tried to kill each other so much.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, at first aggressively, then with a sweet laziness as they both calmed. Amanda felt the other her approve—kissing Emily and feeling her soft body and lying side by side in bed. It felt… not exactly right, but safe. She hadn't expected to, but she _didn't mind_ kissing Emily to the point of enjoying it. Emily tasted sweet and made cute little animal noises of contentment and let Amanda touch her all over. It was almost Zen, kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, but this mediation made a lot more sense to Amanda than the bullshit tai chi the prison volunteers tried to teach her.

"Fuck, Amanda," Emily said softly, breathily, in a voice Amanda almost didn't recognize. She'd just been kissing Emily's neck—it'd been a strange realization, she could kiss Emily anywhere, explore her with her mouth just as thoroughly as with her hands—and there was a certain spot just above her shoulder that fairly hummed with life. Amanda kissed it again, again, and Emily spoke again: "_Fuck!_"

She liked that. Making Emily talk. Making her curse. It was almost cute.

Emily reached down between her legs, but Amanda wouldn't let her in. She scissored her legs, trapping Emily's hand, and reached under her waistband. More direct. Emily was wet and warm. Even more so inside. Amanda had touched herself often enough to know what a woman liked, and overheard Emily masturbating enough to know the same would work for her. She barely even bothered with foreplay, just shoved two fingers in and let her get used to it. Tears welled in Emily's eyes, but she was whimpering in pleasure, her dirty blonde hair rustling under her with little quiverings of her head.

Amanda curled her fingers once, twice, three times, then started pushing. In half a minute, Emily came. Quick, fast, and dirty. Emily Thorne all over. Amanda gave her a second to catch her breath, then rolled her fingers again, catching what had to be Emily's clit. With a grimace, Emily pushed her away. Nearly off the bed.

"What is it?" Amanda asked, more out of shock than concern.

"Just get the fuck off me," Emily said, climbing up into her own bunk.

"What _is_ it?" Amanda insisted. Her voice was more aggressive, like she would beat it out of Emily.

Emily was silent. The silent treatment. A day ago, Amanda would've killed to get that from the mouthy bitch. Now it frustrated her a lot more than hearing what a cunt she was. She got up, paced the length of the cell for the half-second that took, picked up Emily's discarded tunic and threw it up onto the bunk with her. Emily still said nothing.

Amanda sat down on her bunk, still smelling of sex and adrenaline, and wondered if she was still a virgin.

* * *

On any day of the week that didn't begin with sun, the prison chapel was deserted. The expectation of privacy and the comfortable seats made it a good spot for a quickie, but everyone was too worried about the guards taking offense to try a beatdown there. Amanda wondered what God would think of that—a make-out spot with no violence allowed. Seemed about as holy as a place could get, somewhere like this.

It was also a good place for a private talk with the warden. Warden Stiles wasn't like most of the well-wishers Amanda got, and not just because she didn't fantasize about some perverted white trash sex thing with Amanda. Whatever pity she had, she kept it to herself. Which was the only reason Amanda trusted her as much as she did. In her experience, the people who asked you to believe in their _compassion _and _helpfulness _were the ones who needed that belief to screw you. The warden didn't give a damn if Amanda paid her mind or not. She just talked and let Amanda listen.

"Didn't work," Amanda said, staring at the stained glass window in front of the chapel. Mesh wire over it. "Emily pushed me away. She doesn't even look at me anymore."

"I thought you wanted to be left alone." The warden sounded amused.

"If I wanted that, I would've put her in the hospital. I wanted… you said I could turn her."

"And you were trying?"

"I fucked her."

The warden raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if that was a yes or no."

"She liked it, so, yes."

"She liked it, so… what's the problem?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Amanda asked, no longer bothering to hide her exasperation. If it wasn't Emily being a closed book, it was the warden being touchy-feely.

Stiles, for her part, was ready to get just as misanthropic as her. "So I assume you were your usual charming self with her?"

"What of it?"

"This may be a little hard for a sociopath to understand…"

"I'm not a sociopath." The memory of her father twitched in Amanda like she was tonguing a cut on the roof of her mouth. Yes, still tender. "Trust me, it'd be a lot easier if I was."

"Don't worry about it. You do a good enough impression of one." The warden folded her hands in her lap. "It wouldn't surprise me if you were able to seduce her—you're a smart girl, you're good at getting what you want. But the seduction doesn't end there."

Amanda adopted a mincing accent. "Please, Warden Stiles, tell me how to keep the spark going in my lesbian relationship!"

The warden didn't talk for ten seconds, long enough for Amanda to think about how she'd pissed her off, then continued. Her voice was more serious than the neutral one she usually lectured Amanda with. "_Child_, if you want to use your body as a weapon, that's one thing. But using it _right _is quite another. It's a tool, not an arsenal. You throw yourself at Emily, you'll get a little headway. If you're not happy with that, you have to make _her _want _you. _In fact, she has to need you. And you're not exactly Ms. Relationship Material at the moment, so if you don't want my help, by all means, go back to exercising with each other's' faces as punching bags, I get paid the same either way."

Amanda patted her hand on her knee a few times, thinking. Thought _okay. _Thought _fuck it. _"How do I make her want me?"

The warden finally smiled. "Simple. Don't let her have you."

* * *

Amanda meditated on the words as she did reps and ran like she could actually get away from this place, a kind of time-killer that left her hard and lean. It was odd to think of Emily wanting something. She herself wanted nothing from no one. Just to get out of fucking jail, the same way you'd want a leech from your skin. Not because you're planning to do something _sans leech_, but because it's a fucking leech.

But she came to understand the sentiment. At least, the other her did, the theoretical her, the shadow her. There was a difference between the head and the heart. The head could say that what had happened to David Clarke was wrong, but there were so many run-arounds to that—fear, money, power. The intellectual knowledge of what had happened was just a detour. But the physical, emotional, bone-deep _knowing _of what had been done, that slaved the mind to it like an engine to a steering wheel. That was what she had to target. Not the petty swirling colors in Emily's head that were so deceptively easy to latch onto—fuck, fight, talk, don't talk—but whatever was underneath.

So, Emily was shutting her out? Getting off on having her at arm's distance? Amanda went further away. Started being friendly with the guards who were known to appreciate being friends, the cons who were open to being befriended. And she did it where Emily could watch. She let them touch her through her prison scrubs, like steel wool peeling away the skin that had been Emily's. Hands so different they didn't _count_, on her tits, her mound, her face. Pressing in harder, harder, harder, but never getting inside.

She knew Emily saw it. Her getting her back washed in the shower. A trustee stroking her hand while bringing her a book. All of a sudden, she was everyone's girl. Everyone but Emily's.

One night, Amanda felt electricity in the air. She stood at the door to their cell, head low against the glass window, so close the wire mesh swam in her eyes. She had a pretty good view out into the hallway, seeing other women at other windows. Looks of lust, desire, ownership, need. That was power, almost. She had their attention at least. Something that could make them weak.

She put two fingers to her lip and ran them down her body, letting the other prisoners imagine where they went. Only Emily saw how they snuck behind her back, crossed like she was telling a lie.

"Looks like I jumpstarted something in you." Emily laid on the bottom bunk, trying to read a magazine in the drowned moonlight. She was stripped to the waist, her tanktop glowing in the night. "Or maybe just knocked some of the bitch loose."

Amanda barked a laugh hard enough to fog up the glass. "Maybe you just helped me realize I could do better."

Emily laughed back at her. It sounded like a record-scratching. "They'd kick you right out of bed. You don't have any skills."

"You didn't teach me anything," Amanda countered. She saw, in the glass, Emily's pale reflection. It was looking at her. "I wanted you to," she added softly.

Emily turned on her side, looking away. She was losing her.

"You were so nice to me." Amanda forced her voice to lower, to simper, into a child's. "You made me feel so good. And then you wouldn't kiss me, wouldn't even look at me…" As she said it, Amanda realized it was too close to the truth. Admitting there was something she needed from Emily. There was nothing special about her. No pressing need to have her as an ally. She was like an experiment, one whose failure rankled more than anything.

It hurt, in its own little way. Being rejected. Such a sweet, normal, petty hurt. Salt in the open wound of her life.

Emily still wasn't looking at her. Amanda wanted to hurt her, wanted to kiss her, wanted to reach inside her head and throw all the switches. Wanted to go back to swinging fists and hard knees. Why did simple have to end up complicated? She'd just wanted a goddamn _friend. _

Amanda reached up, grabbing the lintel, and pulled herself up. She was tall enough to press her chest against the glass, the pressure outlining her breasts. She lowered herself slowly, then took off her tunic. Reached for the lintel again.

"Stop it!" Emily ordered, shrill with emotion. Amanda froze with her fingers on top of the doorway. "That's only for me." Those words came closer. The last brushed against the back of Amanda's neck.

"You want it that bad?" Amanda's voice was challenging again. She didn't know or care to make it anything else.

"I'm going to have it," Emily answered.

Amanda only realized her hand was in her hair when the grip tightened too hard to ignore. In a second, she was pulled down onto her ass, scalp burning. Another second and Emily had jerked her away from the door, yanked her up onto her knees. Slapped her, hard, leaving her face stinging. Then Emily just ground her face into her crotch, letting the achingly sweet scent of her arousal hit Amanda like a cloud of perfume. And just then, Amanda realized how much she'd missed this.

Emily gave Amanda's hair another forceful tug, making her look up into her eyes. The aggression split Amanda in half. Part of her—the scar tissue that was all that was left of her childhood, that was at the core of her coltish legs and budding breasts—wanted to fight back. But another part was pleased at Emily's possessiveness, her need. It was Amanda's need. She could feed it as much as she wished, or not at all.

Her other self had never been so real. She listened to it.

Amanda dragged her fingers down Emily's sides, the gesture not intimate but familiar. She tucked them into Emily's waistband and her pants came down, in ungracious little slips. Hardly dignified, hardly seductive. But the way Emily waggled her hips for Amanda was sweet and put her at ease. Underneath the pants were lace panties, blunt by the standards of the magazines that were passed around, but a godsend in there. Amanda twined her fingers in their elastic and pulled them down in one long, sinuous unveiling. And beneath that, Emily's pubic hair was trim but intoxicatingly full, a woman's.

Amanda leaned in to kiss it. It tickled her lips for a few moments before she realized she could use her hands, open Emily up. Emily held onto her hair, but limply, like the reins of a horse running at a lazy cant. Amanda licked. She tasted her, drowned in her. The taste took some getting used to, but It quickly became a good kind of bitter. Like beer, Amanda thought, and laughed. Emily tugged on her hair and put her back to work.

Throughout the whole affair, Amanda kept her hands on Emily, holding her open like she'd mess something up if they moved. She couldn't hear Emily through the blood pounding in her ears, couldn't hear if she was making her moan or sigh or _what_, but she felt Emily's hands tightening in her hair and _pull_, harder, tighter, _closer. _She took it as encouragement and grew bolder, no longer moving her tongue in tiny dainty licks but in great big _swipes, _covering all of Emily's cunt, going from the inside of her thigh all the way to her belly button. She kept doing it, going faster and faster, the taste getting better and better, until Emily _bucked _and pulled so hard Amanda's scalp exploded with the pain of hair being ripped out.

"Oh!" Emily said in a small voice, trembling, her face flushed and her pants around her ankles. She backed up, able just barely to sit down on the bottom bunk without falling. She looked at the strands of hair in her hand and let them slip through her fingers. Then she looked at Amanda. Her eyes struck Amanda as very big. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. Come here."

Amanda stood. Her knees ached from being in the same position so long. Her lips were wet.

"Amanda," Emily said after she'd taken a step toward her. "Don't you want to take your clothes off?"

Amanda did. She actually did.

She stripped, for the first time feeling self-conscious about her body and how Emily might see it. She remembered bruises and scars, fights before she met Emily and fights after. But, wordlessly, Emily reached out to help her. Together, their hands pulled Amanda's shirt over her head and her trousers all the way off her toes. Then, with nothing more than a smile, Emily took Amanda's hands to what was left of her own clothes, giving her permission to take them. They ended up on the floor in short order, out of the way as Amanda climbed into the bunk with Emily. It was cramped, the mattress barely big enough for one of them, let alone two, but Amanda liked the arithmetic of fitting their bodies together, twining themselves so no one's limb was dangling off the side.

"I'd like to kiss you," Emily said. Her voice was pleading. In a second, it became firm. "I'm going to kiss you now." Amanda wondered if the change had something to do with the look in her eyes, some signal she'd given, a telepathic message to Emily that all permissions had been given. She parted her lips and let herself be kissed, concentrating simply on accepting the strange tongue in her mouth, touching it with her own. This time she could hear Emily, understood the pleasure she was giving her making a cacophony in her own skull.

Emily growled deep in her throat as Amanda took over, kissing her throat, hands exploring her body with nothing in the way but sweat. She could get used to this. Get used to Emily.

Emily ran a tentative hand through Amanda's hair, and got an encouraging sigh in response. She did it again. "Guess this makes you my bitch."

Amanda nipped at Emily's ear. "Pretty sure you're my bitch."

Emily rolled over so she was on top. "Yeah?"

Amanda rolled them over again. Pinned Emily's hands against the wall. "Yeah."

"Prove it."

Amanda squeezed Emily's wrists, liking the crazy-ass smile Emily was giving her. "Lick my cunt."

Emily wiggled her body lower along the mattress, signaling her willingness to comply, and Amanda released her hands. Her smile growing, Emily wiggled lower and Amanda moved to straddle her.

"I will lick your cunt." Emily stared at the object of her desire. "Bitch."

Amanda laughed and took hold of the bedposts, knowing it was going to be a bumpy ride. And knowing that if she'd been a virgin before, she wasn't now.

* * *

"I like what you've done with your hair."

Amanda stared at the warden, trying to tell if she was joking before remembering she'd dyed it. So much had changed in the last few months that it was easy to forget the little things. Ever since learning the truth, ever since learning _her mission_, she felt like a new woman. The vengeful, hateful person she'd been and the forgiving, peaceful person she'd tried to become—she could be both. By being both, she could have her revenge. All she needed was a place to put some of the… excess baggage of her own life. Like a storehouse for the madness she couldn't afford to carry. Most of all, her name.

Amanda guessed Warden Stiles hadn't had this in mind when she'd told her to make friends, but how did the needlepoint go? A friend was a part of your soul trapped in another body.

"I hear you're releasing Emily Thorne today."

Like she could sense Amanda's intentions, the warden's eyebrows rose. But she nodded. "We tend to do that when someone's sentence is up."

"How's she been?"

"You should know. I've been giving her letters to you ever since you got out, and vice versa."

"We both know Emily isn't always on good terms with the truth."

The warden smiled knowingly. "She hasn't gotten her hook into any of the new fish, if that's what you mean. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say she was mooning over you. She takes a long time writing those letters. Thinks through every word. But then, a smart girl like you, I'm sure you know that. It reads between the lines, doesn't it?"

Amanda was in no mood to play the usual game of keepaway. She looked around the warden's office. She hated it even more as a free woman, and wouldn't be staying any longer than she had to just to play coy. "I need Emily for something. It's a big ask."

"I can't picture that girl saying no to you. You two were practically inseparable. I thought I was going to have to charge the guards admission for coming to work."

Amanda shot the warden a look. Cut the bullshit. "You know Takeda."

"Yes…" Stiles gave her a warning look of her own. Walls had ears.

"Then you know that my father's name is a luxury I can't afford."

"A decoy," the warden said approvingly. "Hope you trust her. It takes strong metal to make a lightning rod."

"It won't come to that," Amanda said firmly. Then with a polite smile: "I trust her with my life."

"But how to make her say yes to your life?"

"Exactly."

The warden leaned back in her chair. "First you made her want you. Then you made her need you. There's only one way to get closer than that."

Amanda crossed her arms. This was the part she'd been fearing. "She already loves me. Don't you remember the noise complaints?"

"It's not love if it's not returned. And nursing a crush isn't a good enough reason to sign away your life."

"This the part where I ask for a love potion?"

"No… I don't believe you write someone every week just because you need them in your pocket for a rainy day. Let her in, Amanda. Just be honest with her and she'll follow you to the ends of the earth."

Amanda's arms folded so that her hands were on her biceps. She squeezed. Underneath, nothing but hard muscle. "What I'm going to do… can't be done with a life partner on the other side of the bed. I have to leave, just like I left this hellhole. And last time, at least I knew for how long."

The warden was quiet. Picturing it, maybe. Maybe she just knew more kinds of prisons than the ones with bars. "You want my advice? Screw Takeda. Take the money and run. Take the girl too. These people have taken enough of your life already. Don't _give _them anymore."

Amanda looked at the clock. "They letting her out now?"

The warden sighed. "Yeah. She's all yours."

* * *

As soon as Emily was free, Amanda took her back to her hotel room, the swankest hotel in a hundred miles. It was the kind of extravagance Amanda usually didn't go for, even with the virtually limitless funds at her disposal, but nothing was too good for her friend. She especially liked taking Emily for a ride in a brand-new Mercedes-Benz C300 Sport, revving the engine on the straight-aways, making Emily squeal with delight as the wind funneled through the open windows and stirred their hair together.

"In!" Amanda ordered Emily as soon as she'd taken the hotel room in. Stripping off the drab clothes some charity had donated for Emily to wear upon her release, Amanda pushed her into the shower and turned the hot water on full blast. Emily giggled heartily as Amanda joined her, fully-clothed, under the shower spray, washing her with perfumed soap and massaging deliciously fruit shampoo into her hair.

Emily came out a new woman, the prison washed right off her, and she could barely keep her hands off her lover. But Amanda was firm, sitting her down naked in front of the vanity and combing her hair expertly before arranging it into a stylish updo. Emily gazed with wonder at her reflection, nearly unrecognizable. Then Amanda allowed herself to be kissed, Emily's adoration like a puppy licking its master, as Amanda swaddled her in one of the hotel's complimentary robes.

Emily bundled herself up in the fluffy fabric, shivering with love as Amanda finally stripped off her wet clothes and embraced her from behind. She kissed the back of her neck, a favorite erogenous zone, left conspicuously bare by Emily's new hairstyle. Emily trembled and opened her robe a little, down to her lower belly and up along the sides of her breasts. She knew instinctively just how to tease Amanda.

"Cutie," Amanda said, with one more fond kiss.

But Emily stopped responding. She just looked in the mirror, at their faces side by side. "Why do you need my name anyway? Can't you just change yours? What your dad did is small potatoes after 9/11. Who cares?"

"I need camouflage," Amanda explained. Sensing the play had ended, she went to collect her own robe. "I'm working on something. Something big. And once it's done, I'll have a lot of money." That was true, but not exactly truthful. She had money right then, she just couldn't enjoy one penny of it while the Graysons went unpunished. But once they'd paid for their crimes… "Remember how we used to look at those books in the prison library, the ones with the pictures of far-off places? Africa, Paris, Australia? I'll take you there. We'll go places they've never even heard of David Clarke."

Emily desultorily pulled a strand of hair out of alignment, letting it curl down her forehead. "Why can't we go now? We have at least enough money for a pair of plane tickets. Let's go to the tropics. I can get a job butchering pigs or something! I'll bring home the bacon, you won't have to work…"

"This is important to me," Amanda interrupted, tightening straps. "I'm going to get it back. Everything they took from me. I just need you to follow my instructions and lie low. Just for a few months. Then we can be together."

"You said we'd be together after I got out," Emily whined. "I was so good… I didn't get into any fights, I didn't so much as look at the guards funny… I didn't want to wait one more minute than I had to before I saw you again. And now you're leaving again."

"Emily, look at me."

Emily stared into the mirror. Lost in her reflection. 'Amanda's' reflection.

"_Look at me._"

Emily turned around. Amanda had a cock. A big black one, strapped around her waist, its darkness contrasting dramatically with the white plush robe draped open around Amanda's body, the golden blonde hair Amanda had adopted as her own. She approached in long, graceful strides, the dildo pointed at Emily like a gun.

"I'm not asking you to understand why I'm doing this, and I'm not asking you to approve. I just need you to go along with it and _trust _me. And I know it's hard for you." Amanda was close enough now to reach out and pinch the errant strand of Emily's hair between her fingers. "I know it seems unfair. But if I didn't care about you, I wouldn't trust you with this. It's because I love you that I know you can make this sacrifice for me. You can, can't you?"

"Of course I can." Emily smiled unbelievingly. "You know I'd do anything for you, it's just…"

"Open," Amanda said firmly, and eased her cock toward Emily's mouth.

Emily hadn't gotten those lace panties by singing lullabies. She knew how to get along in prison, even if she'd stopped after Amanda had come along—Amanda still wasn't sure if that was because of love or if she'd simply lacked the energy after fucking her cellmate day and night.

Still, Amanda almost hated herself, watching Emily snap into an obedient, subservient role. Her mouth taking the cock in like it was a lollipop. She wished she could've gone first, sucking on Emily to show that it had nothing to do with 'wearing the pants' or 'being a power bottom' or whatever shitty labels people wanted to put on it. It was just fun.

Except tonight. Tonight, she needed to make a point, so she imagined it was Victoria Grayson, on her knees, taking Amanda's rigid cock until she gagged.

"Suck it," Amanda ordered, and maybe Emily did, but there was no way of knowing. "I said _suck it." _And from the way Emily's cheeks hollowed, it was obvious she was. "You have to trust me," she continued in a softer voice, fisting her hands in Emily's hair as gently as she could, gathering thick handfuls so she wouldn't rip anything out. "Just like you trust me to make you feel good." With her grip on Emily's ruined hairdo, she forced Emily up and down her cock. It was all part of her revenge, she thought, no different than shoving it down Lydia Davis's throat. "And just like how you trust me to take care of you."

She thought of nothing but Victoria's tastefully red lips parted obscenely by her cock as she forced Emily all the way down her strap-on, until the head of it was nestled in her throat muscles. She doubted Emily could breathe very well, but she also knew Emily could hold her breath.

After a ten-count, Amanda ripped Emily off her dick and tossed her onto the bed. Emily landed gasping for air, unable to resist as Amanda practically shredded her robe from her body. As she mounted her, the dildo landed between her thighs, warm and wet with saliva. Amanda smiled down on her lovingly as she rubbed her cock from Emily's ass up to her core.

"See? It probably felt bad, having my cock in your mouth, but now it's all wet. It won't hurt when I go inside you. Will it?"

Amanda kissed Emily as she entered her, feeling the girl clench up in pain, then slowly uncoil as Amanda continued kissing her. As much as she hated to admit it, the rough treatment had gotten more than the dildo wet.

Now Amanda stopped kissing her, just burying her face in Emily's shoulder as she penetrated her, fully, utterly. Emily mewled like a wounded animal, her spasming arms and legs scratching at the bedcover. Amanda held her down as the dildo came to a rest deep within her used cunt.

"What's my name?" she asked 'Victoria', giving the dildo a vindictive little twist.

Emily gasped. "Amanda—I love you, Amanda…"

Amanda slapped her, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. A part of her liked the tears. She imagined them in that whore Lydia Davis's eyes. She put her hand to Emily's throat and tightened it, holding her face still so she could lick the saltwater from her cheeks.

"What's my name?" she asked again, right in Emily's ear.

"A… Emily. Emily Thorne."

Amanda rewarded her by rolling her hips. Emily was panting by the time she finished. Still lovingly, Amanda moved her hand from Emily's throat to her well-sized breast and tweaked the nipple to pleasing hardness between her fingers. "And what's your name?"

"Amanda Clarke."

Amanda pulled out a ways, causing Emily to repeat her answer in loud fear of disappointment—"Amanda Clarke! Amanda Clarke!"—but Amanda was only moving back so she could throw her whole weight forward, push all the way back in. The third time Emily tried to say her name, it came out as a scream.

"What's my name?!" Amanda demanded.

"Emily!"

"What's your name?"

"Emily—shit, I'm sorry."

Amanda pulled out immediately, leaving Emily stammering brokenly—"Sorry, I'm sorry."—before she flipped Emily over and took her from behind.

"Don't be sorry," Amanda ordered, getting a firm grip on Emily's hair and ruining her new styling in the process. "Be _right._"

She pulled back, hard, forcing Emily upon her cock. They kept at that for another five minutes—Amanda having learned to be very good at keeping time in her travels—then she gave Emily another chance. This time Emily got it right, and Amanda rewarded her by letting her collapse onto her back and have a few gentle kisses. A quick quiz on Amanda Clarke's childhood was mostly correct; Amanda gave her the dildo again.

They kept on like that all night, until their sweat had soaked through the bedspread and into the mattress. When Emily got questions right, answered to 'Amanda' or 'Mandy' or 'Clarke', she got kisses and professions of love and gentle massages. When she got something wrong, her hair was pulled hard enough to jar her neck, her bare bottom or flushed cheek was slapped hard, nails were raked down her nude body, obscenities were screamed in her ear or spat in her face.

She came seven times, both from getting questions right and wrong. And when dawn came, Amanda was alternating hard thrusting and soft kisses without thought of reward or punishment.

"Fuck me, fuck me!" Emily begged, far beyond knowing or caring why they were doing this.

"Who's fucking you?" Amanda demanded.

"Emily Thorne!"

"And who's getting fucked?"

"Amanda Clarke!"

"Who's the _little fucking whore _getting fucked?" Amanda said, even louder, twisting Emily's nipple hard.

"_Amanda Clarke!_"

"And who are you going to come for?"

"Emily Thorne!" Emily screamed as Amanda dove inside her, pinning her to the bed in her orgasm, their bodies burning together with neither of them sure where their flesh ended and the other's began, it all felt so good, touching and being touched.

Amanda collapsed on top of Emily. Her last conscious act was to ease the dildo out of her. Without the rush of an approaching orgasm, it was too painful to be enjoyed.

"I love you, Emily," said Emily.

"I love you too, Amanda," said Amanda. She tried to banish the thought of the Graysons from her mind, the images that had made it so easy for her to be cruel, sadistic—but even as she fell into Emily's arms, tired and sore, those smug faces would not be pushed aside.

She fell asleep the only way she could fall asleep. Imagining her revenge.


End file.
